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“You didn’t! I wanted to be there for you. I even begged the closet to take me. When it didn’t, I got mad.”

“That’s why everything is on the floor and your dresser was blocking the door?” I can hear the smile in his voice.

“There might have also been ice cream involved. In fact, I’m probably getting chocolate on you,” I tell him. “Or cherry juice.”

“Cherry juice?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d love to hear it.”

I pull back, craning my neck so I can meet his gaze. “Is that really what you want to talk about right now?”

His steely eyes become fire. “Not even a little bit.”

And then his mouth finds mine. From the look in his eyes, I expect to be hurtled into a passionate kiss, but Archer is full of restraint. Tender. As though he’s easing his way back to me. A restart, or at least a fresh one. His lips brush mine as though taking stock of every millimeter of my skin.

I’m dizzy and kiss-drunk, and it only makes me desperate for more. I release his shirt to link my hands behind his neck, tugging him closer until Archer’s careful restraint unravels and we’re locked in an embrace that feels as much like some kind of battle of wills as a declaration of something.

Love. This is love.

I might have denied it to Sophie—and myself—but I know. Not from the kiss, but from everything. It’s just … Archer.

The insistent ringing of a phone has us pulling apart, panting. Archer reaches in his pocket then frowns. “I think my phone is still in New York.”

“It’s mine,” I say, pressing my mouth to his neck. “We can ignore it.”

But it doesn’t stop. And it’s hard to maintain the mood when I recently changed my ringtone to “9 to 5.” Dolly Parton is great in most situations, but maybe not this one.

“Let me just check,” I say, reluctantly pulling away to find my phone under a pile of T-shirts. “It’s Bellamy. Hello?”

“Is Archer with you?” Bellamy sounds panicked, and I wonder if he was there when Archer disappeared. Did Archer ever tell him about the closets?

I put it on speakerphone so Archer can hear. “He’s right here with me.”

“Hello, Bellamy,” Archer says.

“Oh, good, you came to New York,” Bellamy says. “I hope you brought cookies.”

“Not exactly.”

“You didn’t exactly bring cookies? I think it’s a yes or no question.”

“I’m … not exactly in New York,” I say.

“We’re in Serendipity Springs.” Archer and I wait for Bellamy’s response. It takes a long moment.

Another long silence. “I’m sorry,” Bellamy finally says. “But I’m processing and have a lot of questions. First, how in the world did you get there so quickly? You were just here.”

“That is a long story, perhaps better told in person,” Archer says. “Can you send a plane? I need to be back for the trial.”

“I can, but that’s the other reason I’m calling. I tried to reach you earlier, but you wouldn’t answer your phone.”

“It’s in New York still.”

“You left your phone?”

“Again, part of the long story. What’s the other reason you’re calling?” Archer sounds suddenly impatient, and, with his fingertips tracing the curve of my waist, I feel the same way.